Writing with Wine
by Danni Sanity
Summary: Aspiring author Arthur Kirkland has hit a major roadblock on the path to his career. He has terrible writer's block! Can a certain blonde French man help him acheive his goal? And maybe more? FrUk, T for now but will probably go up.
1. 1: Cafe Introductions

Writing with Wine {FrUK}

Chapter One

_Kirk Bennett, pirate captain of the mighty Bernadette, stood holding the mast and staring out at the horizon. It was simply gorgeous at this time of day; twilight. The sun was now setting over the waves in the distance, and Kirk and his crew were making their departure from port in Singapore. It was an unusually peaceful night on the Bernadette, until –_

Arthur Kirkland sighed, taking a sip of the Herbal Mint Tea in front of him. "Until what?"

The blonde put his head in his hands. His deadline was in three months, and here he was sitting in the same rut he'd been in for weeks. Not only could the poor Brit not get past the opening paragraph, he didn't even have a title yet! He had no idea where the story should go, and the aspiring author felt nauseous thinking of his boss finding out…

His boss. One Mr. Roderich Edelstein, would eat him alive if he ever found out Arthur had lied about the novel's status when he told him it was almost complete. This was Arthur's last chance and he had a sinking feeling he was going to blow it.

"What am I going to do?" The blonde sighed again, rubbing his tired green eyes before moving his hands away from his face. And promptly being scared half to death. "Who are you?"

The 'you' being in reference to the sandy blonde man suddenly standing next to Arthur's corner booth.

"Bonjour, mon ami, my name is Francis." The man smiled, "but you can call me 'sexy'."

Arthur scowled. "I'd rather call a waitress to have you thrown out." He really hated people like him. Blatant playboys who obviously only wanted one thing…

"Oh, come on mon cher, can't a guy make a joke?" He paused, still smiling, and gestured to the open bench. "May I sit?"

Arthur sighed, "Do what you want…" before returning his head to his hands.

"Am I that unattractive?" Francis joked.

"No, it's not you…" Arthur looked up. "I'm trying to write something, and I have terrible writer's block… And a deadline in three months…"

"What are you writing?" The French man asked.

"A fiction about pirates…" The Brit murmured, slightly embarrassed. Pirates had always been a sort of interest for him, and he thought it would make for a good story.

"And what happens in zis pirate fiction, cher?"

"That's the problem! I don't know!" Arthur sighed, exasperated.

"Ah, I see." Francis nodded. "You should try writing outside of your comfort."

"What do you mean?"

"You write adventure fiction." Arthur nodded. "So try something else instead. Try science fiction, or drama, or… romance?"

Arthur nodded slowly. "Maybe… maybe that would work…. Thank you, Francis."

With that said, he put down the money for his tea and left the shop to head home where he could work.

It didn't work. After five hours, full of Arthur typing away like a madman, deleting and typing some more, four cups of tea and two trips to the bathroom, nothing he tried had worked. He'd tried writing western, sci-fi, fantasy, and even tragedy and angst. None of them had worked at all, and now he was exhausted. A glance at his clock told him it was eight o'clock, a bit early to retire, but maybe if he got a better night's rest, he could work on his pirate story more effectively in the morning.

As he changed and got into bed, Arthur found his mind wandering back to Francis in the café. _Was he really trying to flirt with me? _The Brit shook his head to clear these crazy thoughts. _No way. A playboy like him probably automatically flirts with everyone like that…_With that cleared up, the blonde man got into bed and shut off his lamp, drifting off into a deep sleep.


	2. 2: Morning Meetings

Writing with Wine {FrUK}

Chapter Two

Arthur woke the next morning in a fevered sweat, from an extremely erotic dream. He furrowed his bushy brows in concentration, trying to recall the quickly fading stimuli.

Eventually, he gave up and instead tried to remember what woke him at – He glanced at the clock – Six AM? As if on cue, his doorbell rang, announcing a visitor. With a sigh, the Brit climbed out from under his covers to answer the door…and realized he was hard.

"Oh, bugger…" He mumbled, wiping a hand down his face. As the bell rang again, the blonde decided just to pull on his robe to hopefully hide his…excitement. "Oi! Hold your bloody horses!" He called. The person continued to ring as Arthur made his way to the front of his apartment. "Hey!" He opened the door. "Stop ringing that damn-"

Then he saw who it was and almost closed the door again. A familiar blonde Frenchman was standing on his doorstep, grinning. Arthur sighed.

"Are you stalking me now, you bloody git?"

"Non," Francis rolled his eyes. "But when I stopped by zat café we met in yesterday, ze girl behind ze counter was only too happy to give moi your address, cher." He smiled. "She also said you were a regular, which was good to know too…"

Arthur sighed again. "Great. Now I don't just have to stop going to my favorite café, I also have to move."

Francis 'tsked'. "Don't be that way, mon ami, I just wanted to check and see if my tips helped you…Can I come in?"

Rolling his eyes, Arthur opened the door a bit wider against his better judgment, grumbling, "Come in." _Arthur, what are you doing? You barely know this guy!_

But still, he let the other blonde enter, closing the door behind him. He followed Francis into his kitchen, where the flamboyant man had apparently helped himself to some tea already. "Who said you could make tea?"

"Moi," Francis replied, as if it were the most obvious question ever.

Arthur sighed. "At least make some for me too."

"Of course, cher." The Frenchman winked.

The Brit rolled his eyes. "Actually," He began a few minutes later, when Francis sat down across the table from him. "Your tips didn't do me much good, I'm afraid…"

"Non?"

"No. I tried writing about cowboys, aliens, and private detectives. And more, but nothing worked…" He rested his head on his folded arms. "I'm just afraid I'm going to blow this…"

"Hmm…. Maybe if you tried somezing I've heard works a bit better?"

"What's that?" Arthur lifted his head.

"Well, perhaps if you went for a walk and took notes in a small notebook, it would help inspire you?"

"...Maybe…" Arthur slowly nodded. "Yeah, I could try…"

"Good. Well zen, if zat is settled, finish your tea and go dress. Zen we can go."

"Yes…wait, what?"

"Well, I'm coming too, cher." Francis smiled, as if it was, again, the most obvious question.

He was going to protest. He really was. But in the end, Arthur just sighed and nodded, draining his cooling tea in one sip. "I'll be right back."

"I know, mon petit lapin."

The Brit ignored him.


End file.
